Ramadan Kareem to all Egyptian Chronicles readers.
Tonight, as we discover what happened to Daw’ al-Makan after the guards seized him from the caravan because of his sorrowful singing, it is time for our little chit-chat.
Tonight is a very special night in the history of the One Thousand and One Nights.
It is the 100th episode — a true milestone for one of the longest-running radio shows in the history of Egyptian and Arab broadcasting.
Despite this celebration, our chit-chat tonight is still tied to our tale.
The names of our twins, separated by slave traders, are Nuzhat al-Zaman and Daw’ al-Makan. Taher Abu Fasha kept these same names from the One Thousand and One Nights story of Umar al-Nu'man, without changing them in his radio adaptation.
The name Nuzhat al-Zaman means “Delight of the Age,” while her brother Daw’ al-Makan means “Light of the Place.” At first glance, they may sound like purely fictional names, but historically, they are not entirely unusual.
These names follow a well-known naming tradition from the medieval Islamic world. During the Abbasid Caliphate, it was common for royals, scholars, and prominent figures to use honorific names formed by a noun followed by elements such as al-Din (“of the Religion”), al-Dawla (“of the State”), or al-Zaman / al-Dahr (“of the Age” or “Time”).
For example, the famous medieval poet and man of letters Badi' al-Zaman al-Hamadhani — whose real name was Ahmad ibn al-Husayn — used the title Badi’ al-Zaman, meaning “Wonder of the Age.” His surname al-Hamadhani simply means “from the city of Hamadan.”
Enough of our short chit-chat.
Let us now see what will happen to our lost prince in the 100th episode of One Thousand and One Nights, as originally broadcast on Egyptian State Radio.
Ep. 9 “A Reunion”
The Hundredth Night
And when it was the One Hundredth Night, and the night that followed it, King Shahryar took his seat as he had on the previous evening.
And scarcely had a moment passed when Scheherazade came before him. She greeted him with the most gracious greeting and began once more to tell her tale.
Scheherazade said:
“It has reached me, O fortunate king, wise in judgment and sound in counsel, that Prince Daw’ al-Makan, when he arrived in the lands of Marjan searching for his sister Nuzhat al-Zaman, found no trace of her and heard no news of her. Despair seized his heart and reached its utmost limit, until the young prince surrendered himself to the decree of God and entrusted his affair to his Lord.
One day, as he and his companions were traveling, they suddenly heard a commotion and saw a great crowd approaching. The prince inquired about it and learned that it was the wife of the Grand Chamberlain, traveling with a caravan bound for the lands of King Al-Nu‘man.
When Daw’ al-Makan heard this and realized that the caravan was heading toward the kingdom of his father, he asked the garbage collector to accompany him on the journey. At once Uncle Karkoub the garbage collector rose, tied his camel to the caravan train, and the two of them set out with the travelers on a long and eventful road.
One night, as they journeyed across the desert, the prince remembered the days of his past life. His sorrows overwhelmed him, and his grief poured forth. So he sat singing to soothe the wounds of his heart, chanting a sorrowful song while Karkoub the garbage collector listened beside him.
Now the wife of the Chamberlain heard the young man’s singing. The melody touched her deeply and stirred a hidden wound in her heart. So she sent one of her men to bring the singer to her at once.
The guards seized Daw’ al-Makan and his companion Karkoub and brought them before her. When they entered, the garbage collector stepped forward first, offering his apologies and begging her pardon and forgiveness.
But the princess Nuzhat al-Zaman brushed him aside and turned her attention to Daw’ al-Makan.
She asked him about the secret of his sorrow and the reason for his tears while he was singing. And when he told her his story and revealed to her his tale, the princess began to weep… and she turned toward him.”
The princess suddenly cried out:
“The voice… that voice… it is my brother’s voice! My beloved brother!”
Then she called out:
“You there—both of you! Come here!”
Karkoub the garbage collector hurried forward and said nervously:
“Have mercy on us, Princess. May God never place you in distress.”
She asked:
“Which one of you was singing?”
Karkoub replied quickly:
“This one—my son. We did not know it would trouble you if he sang.”
“Why should it trouble me?” she said. “Come here, young man… what were you singing?”
“Why do you ask?” Daw’ al-Makan replied.
The princess stared at him in astonishment and whispered:
“My God… could it be him?”
“Could it be who?” the prince asked. “Why do you look at me like that? Are you afraid of me?”
She said softly:
“If I were to uncover my face… what would you say?”
“What would I say?” he answered in confusion. “Why are you speaking this way?”
“Every heart carries its sorrow,” she replied, “and every soul sings of its pain.”
Karkoub interrupted anxiously:
“Forgive us, my lady. We meant no disturbance.”
“Silence!” she said sharply. “Let me speak with him.”
Then she turned again to the prince and asked:
“Who is this man with you?”
“My father,” the prince answered.
“Your father?” she laughed. “That is impossible! And what is your name, old man?”
“My name is Karkoub,” he said proudly.
“Karkoub?”
“And a garbage collector too!”
“A garbage collector?” she said thoughtfully. “There is no shame in that… but something here does not sound true.”
“Do you think I am lying?” the prince asked.
Karkoub quickly interrupted:
“Of course he is lying! I am a garbage collector, my son is a garbage collector, the son of a garbage collector—and we all live from the trade of garbage!”
“Enough,” the princess said at last.
Then she turned back to Daw’ al-Makan.
“Young man, tell me the truth. What sorrow has brought you here?”
“My sister was kidnapped,” he replied with anguish. “Ah… my beloved sister!”
“And what is your sister’s name?” she asked.
“Nuzhat al-Zaman.”
The princess trembled.
Then she said quietly:
Princess Nuzhat al-Zaman:
“Haven’t you noticed my voice?”
Prince Daw’ al-Makan:
“I cannot remember where I have heard it before… but it does not sound strange to me. Who… who are you?”
Nuzhat al-Zaman:
“Then let me reveal my face to you. Look… look carefully, Daw’ al-Makan.”
The prince stared in amazement and cried out:
“By God! Nuzhat! Nuzhat al-Zaman!”
“My brother!” she exclaimed.
“My beloved brother!”
Karkoub looked from one to the other in utter astonishment.
“By God! The princess is your sister? Then fortune truly smiles upon you!”
And the two siblings embraced after long separation.
Nuzhat al-Zaman:
“Praise be to God for your safety, Daw’ al-Makan.”
Daw’ al-Makan:
“And praise be to God for your safety as well, Nuzhat al-Zaman.”
Karkoub:
“Praise be to God for the safety of you both! I swear, the moment I saw him I said to myself: this is the son of noble people.”
Daw’ al-Makan:
“Where are you going now? And what has happened to you?”
Nuzhat al-Zaman:
“No… you tell me your story first.”
Daw’ al-Makan:
“No, you first.”
Nuzhat al-Zaman sighed and said:
“From where should I begin? From the moment they threw me aside, took you away, and left me alone?
I wept and wailed and poured out my grief. They tortured me, humiliated me, and lashed me with whips. And when they feared I might escape them, they placed more guards around me. They prepared what they called the bridal procession… but it was no wedding.
Instead they took me to the slave market and sold me to a slave dealer whose heart was harder than iron. May God judge him.”
Daw’ al-Makan asked anxiously:
“And what happened after that?”
Nuzhat al-Zaman continued:
“The slave dealer took me to his house. He carried a whip in his hand, and every day he would come to me like a dark cloud of misery.
Then one day, while I was asleep…”
Flashback
(The voice of the slave dealer waking her)
Slave Dealer:
“What is this? Are you sleeping?”
Nuzhat al-Zaman:
“I… I’m awake… why?”
Slave Dealer:
“Why? You dare ask why?”
Nuzhat al-Zaman (crying):
“Very well… I will not ask why.”
Slave Dealer:
“Listen carefully. Do you know why I have come to you tonight?”
Nuzhat al-Zaman:
“No… I cannot say.”
Slave Dealer:
“I will tell you. Tomorrow is the market.”
Nuzhat al-Zaman:
“What market?”
Slave Dealer:
“The slave-girls’ market.”
Nuzhat al-Zaman:
“And what does that have to do with me?”
Slave Dealer (laughing mockingly):
“What does it have to do with you? Ha! Everything! I have spent money on you! Do you know how much I paid?”
Nuzhat al-Zaman:
“Did I ever ask you to buy me?”
Slave Dealer:
“One thousand gold coins! Do you hear me? A thousand!”
Nuzhat al-Zaman:
“And what is my fault in that?”
Slave Dealer:
“Silence! You’ve been here two months. Tomorrow you must be soft as dough so I can sell you for double—two thousand instead of one. Do you hear me? Now get up and show me!”
Nuzhat al-Zaman:
“Show you what?”
Slave Dealer:
“Dance! Let me see!”
Nuzhat al-Zaman:
“This is no time for dancing.”
Slave Dealer:
“Enough! Silence! Don’t even breathe! Get up and dance!”
Nuzhat al-Zaman (weeping):
“Yes… yes, my master…”
Slave Dealer:
“Dance!”
Nuzhat al-Zaman:
“I am dancing… look…”
Slave Dealer:
“Dance properly! Is that dancing? Hey, Aunt Mat‘aba! Where are you?”
Mat‘aba:
“What is it? What happened?”
Slave Dealer:
“Come here!”
Mat‘aba:
“What’s wrong? Explain.”
Slave Dealer:
“Is this dancing? Are you trying to ruin my business?”
Mat‘aba:
“Calm yourself.”
Slave Dealer:
“This makes my blood boil!”
Mat‘aba:
“You are the one bringing misery upon yourself. Get up, you wretched girl, and show him your dancing.”
Slave Dealer:
“Move, you criminal!”
Mat‘aba:
“Dance, girl!”
Nuzhat al-Zaman:
“Like this… like this…”
Slave Dealer:
“Is that dancing? Show her, Aunt Mat‘aba.”
Mat‘aba:
“Look here, foolish girl. This is how you dance…”
(Music rises as she begins demonstrating the dance.)
Return to the Slave Market
The market crier shouted loudly among the crowds:
“Step forward to the market of beauties! Search for the rare and precious!
Raise the price for what deserves it, for what we sell is priceless!
Slave girls! Slave girls for those who desire slave girls!
Fair ones white as jasmine… red ones like amber… golden ones like the narcissus flower!
Come see the shining faces, the graceful brunettes, the beauties of the morning!”
Just then, a wealthy merchant approached.
Shahbandar:
“May I?”
Slave Dealer:
“Welcome, welcome! Please come in, Shahbandar.”
Shahbandar:
“I want that slave girl over there.”
Slave Dealer:
“Which one of them?”
Shahbandar:
“The one crying over there.”
Slave Dealer:
“That one? Yes… that one. Come here, girl! Nuzhat! I told you to stop crying!”
(Nuzhat al-Zaman sobs softly.)
Shahbandar said gently:
“Why treat her like that? Is the whip the only way you know? How much are you asking for her?”
Slave Dealer replied smugly:
“You have a sharp eye, sir.”
Shahbandar:
“Will you take a thousand gold dinars?”
Slave Dealer laughed loudly.
“A thousand? If you gave me ten thousand in ten purses, I still wouldn’t sell her!”
Shahbandar replied calmly:
“Very well. Ten thousand in ten purses.”
The slave dealer blinked in surprise.
“Ten thousand?! Where? Bring them here! Wait… what did you say?”
“Ten thousand,” the merchant repeated.
The slave dealer quickly changed his tone.
“No, no… I mean fifteen. Fifteen purses.”
Shahbandar:
“Very well. Fifteen purses.”
The dealer hesitated again.
“Actually… I meant twenty.”
The merchant frowned and said firmly:
“Listen carefully. I agreed to twenty. But if you change your word again, I will leave her to you and I will not buy her at all.”
The slave dealer quickly gave in.
“Very well… take her. May she bring you blessing.”
And so the Shahbandar purchased Nuzhat al-Zaman and took her with him to the lands of Marjan, intending to present her as a gift to the Sultan.
Yet the merchant treated her kindly and with respect. Slowly her strength returned, the glow of youth came back to her face, and he bought her the finest garments.
Then he set out with her and went to present her before the ruler.
But at that moment—
The rooster crowed.
And before the tale was complete, the dawn overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent until another night.
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